


We Race to the End

by Ithaca7



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergent Post Doldrums/Becalmed Ep, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Eventual Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26113804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithaca7/pseuds/Ithaca7
Summary: In which John Silver is clever.  But not nearly as clever as he thinks he is.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 17
Kudos: 52





	1. The Launch

_Both of those people ended up dead_.

Silver’s own words echoed in his head as he re-read the inscription, written in a curled delicate script: “ _James My truest love. Know no shame. - T.H._ ” He wasn’t sure why he’d had such an urge to look at it again, the brief words he’d long since committed to memory, far better than he ever had that wretched captain’s log. It had belonged to the Barlow woman. Of that he was fairly certain, for Flint had come back with something late one night, tucked just inside his coat, and it was well whispered where he’d been. But no one else had noted the new addition to Flint’s library, except for Silver. He could not afford to miss such details.

He had managed to sneak it off the shelf months earlier when Flint was otherwise occupied. At the time the page had puzzled more than shocked him, the name and initials being indeterminate. He squeezed every last bit of gossip he could from Billy and the men, and then from the taverns in Nassau, where a few bawdy stories and easy jokes at Flint’s expense over a bottle with strangers would earn him some valuable tidbits that he wove together as best he could. It was a tedious process, waiting until they were drunk enough to tell him what he wanted and to not remember exactly what it was they’d told him the next day. It could not get back to Flint that he had been asking questions. Or to anyone. As the weeks went by it began to unwind itself slowly, started to fall around his feet. Then the voyage to Charles Town had confirmed most of the gossip. James was Flint’s Christian name, the Barlow woman used it so carelessly, well within earshot of the crew that even the dimmest man knew that now. And her true surname had been Hamilton. Her Christian name must have been….Teresa, Tabitha, Theodora, something, for she went by Miranda in Nassau and that “T” was no “M”. A pet name perhaps? He was close, it prickled at him but he dismissed it, for the thing was clear enough, details be damned.

What had niggled far more was what Billy had said that one awful night to him on the deck, though he scarcely liked to think on those ragged days of hunger, thirst and piercing daylight. It hadn’t bothered him when Billy threatened to “do something about it,” or when he’d said Flint only saw Gates and the Barlow woman as his equals. It was something else that ate at him.

_Gates figured it out. The Barlow woman figured it out._

That had stung. He prided himself on his cleverness, survived off it, needed it now more than ever since he’d lost the leg. But he’d still failed, despite the effort it took to confess to Flint about the Urca gold in the launch, desperate to keep his voice from shaking and mostly winning that fight but knowing at any moment Flint could pick up his oar, turn around and pummel him into a pulp, dump him off the side where the sharks would be grateful to have a little fresh blood to complement their rancid feast. But the Gods had delivered them all from it, brought them to an island where the natives were friendly and where they could restock on fresh water and provisions.

The men were off fucking and drinking themselves sick the night before as they were to finally set off again in the morning, but he hadn’t the stomach for either. Instead he found a spot in the soft sand where he could see the Walrus and the sea surrounding her stretch out black before him with hellish beauty. Flint had found him, god knows how, and he’d been for once in a talkative mood. Probably because Silver wanted to contemplate his last evening on the island in solitude, and Flint could never be obliging. But he did what was necessary, listened as best he could for everything, anything Flint said that needed to be stored away, used later, tied it together in case it could serve as future fortification against the man. Still he found himself drifting off, engaging less, letting his inner musings intrude and muffle the voice beside him more and more. He was aware after a time that it had fallen silent and felt a sharp twist in his stomach. He should not have allowed himself to become so distracted, he turned carefully so as to not betray any panic. Flint was still sitting beside him, but staring at him with a focused, inquisitive look, as if dissecting him. Of course he was, the man was always more disciplined, always looking three steps ahead, for the advantage.

The voice and kind eyes of an old mentor, a friend, now long dead flashed into Silver’s mind. He had helped him when he was young, had taught him the only things that had kept him breathing through all of it, that were worth knowing-- _John, never stop thinking. Always be thinking._ He hadn’t fully grasped the lesson then, but the years had taught it to him, carved it in inch by inch, and with every violation he paid dearly.

Flint glanced down briefly at the sand, no doubt embarrassed at being caught, but then looked up at him again with the same steely expression. Silver turned back to the sea, knowing he’d somehow lost yet another challenge. Determined to recover himself he cleared his throat, and prepared to spin a yarn about a mermaid with a penchant for talking sailors off their ships and devouring them whole, nothing too on the nose, but amusing enough for him to chuckle over to himself later. Flint however cut him off before he’d even got the first bit of it out. It was not turning out to be a productive evening, that is, until he had breathed through his anger at Flint’s interruption, unruffled himself and began to actually listen to what the man was saying.

It was vague at first, allusions to earlier days, his naval career, some sort of harebrained scheme for Nassau, for pardons, all when he was still a part of London society. It would be useful, and Silver tucked it away, piece by piece like a greedy child, to mull over later as he had done before on those rare occasions when he caught Flint in a loquacious mood. And then it came, like a wave slamming into him, salty and cold. _Thomas and I_ ….Teresa...Tabitha…. _Thomas_. Of course he had heard it in passing, Lady _Thomas Hamilton_. And he knew of the man, knew he was dead and that Flint had run off with his wife, the Barlow woman. But somehow he had never connected him to the inscription, beyond brief consideration of whether the lady had initialed it herself as such. That idea, however, he had dismissed, for the formality of such a signature was not in accord with the familiarity of the address. _James_. All in all it was odd, for what married woman so wishes to remind her lover of the name she bears, of his rival. Yet the unlikeliness of the possibility that her husband was the author had utterly blinded him to this simplest of solutions.

Silver was grateful for the swelling dusk, for Flint would not be able to see his face clearly now, would not be able to see his wheels turning as he at last firmly grasped and connected all the points that had been vague and tenuous for so long. He could not be sure if Flint had noticed, but he did not seem to, for he moved on to his war, to his usual tirade against England and all of civilization. Silver tried to listen to that too, tried to keep his revelation crammed within his chest until he was alone and could fully digest it undetected. At last Flint commented on the approaching darkness and Silver took the opportunity to agree they should be heading back.

They were halfway back to the camp when Silver impulsively decided to tell Flint that he would spend the night on the Walrus, making up an excuse about wishing to cheat the mosquitoes. He would meet him on shore in the morning to round up the men. Flint smirked and said he would soon have plenty of time to be aboard the ship, that he should take advantage of being on solid ground while he could. Spurred by agitation and anxiety Silver played it low and added that he wished to get his sea legs back, tapping his stump for emphasis. Bringing up the topic would surely cause Flint discomfort, make him drop it and leave him be. It worked. Silver was free to hobble back alone to the deserted beach unquestioned. He set off in one of the smaller launches for the ship.

He’d wanted to retrieve the book and look at it then, but it was far too dark, and he did not dare light a candle where it could be seen in the captain’s cabin. Instead he headed down to the lower decks and his trusty hammock, where he could finally think unencumbered by the presence of others. There he rocked in the scant moonlight as the ship creaked around him, comforting, like the womb. His shark blue eyes swam in the darkness, darting through possibilities, solutions, compromises. They’d _all three_ ended up dead. That was interesting. That was a pattern, which only a fool ignores.

He could not play it Billy’s way, at least not so straightforwardly, not if he wished to survive him. Flint would have to make the initial blow, the fatal wound to his own defenses, no one, not even Silver could force his hand there. And that was merely chance, up to the fates. But once the harpoon was sunk, Silver could not hesitate. He could not afford a moment of panic or fear and he could not let go of the rope. He would secure the line around the breasthook, and despite his disadvantage pull in a wild, murderous thing, foot by foot, hand over hand, until, what by natural rights he should have no chance against, in magnificence or strength, he would catch, and drag through the waters unceremoniously. Silver smiled to himself and drifted off to the voice in his head. It sang about how for all its monsters and for all its kings, the world will ever be ruled by fishermen.

But now it was morning. And he’d risen with the dawn, clambered up to Flint’s cabin to retrieve his prize. He was so held by it that he did not hear the steps on the deck before they had stopped, nor the door behind him until it closed.


	2. The Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *********************************************
> 
> Friends, Romans, countrymen, the rating and tags have changed significantly from the initial chapter. Please read them before proceeding, ye be warned. Note tagged for noncon as well as dubcon, the line is somewhat murky. If either and/or the other tags bother you, don’t be a hero and miss it. Same goes generally for anyone looking for fluff. 
> 
> And now as UFC’s Conor MCGregor once said, I’d like to take this chance to apologize, to absolutely nobody. 
> 
> **********************************************

_What do you have there?_

Silver knew how he must look, wide-eyed with fear, hiding the book behind his back while trying to keep his balance, like a schoolboy caught with his hand in a jar of sweets. If only he had had time to jam it back onto the shelf and with a slight of hand pretend he had been looking at anything else. 

_Give it to me. Now._

Flint’s tone had more than the usual snarl to it. It had fury, too white hot to have been stoked merely by Silver’s trespass into Flint’s private quarters, or even by his handling of his personal belongings. It sounded of a deeper kind of violation. There was gravel in it, pain in it. Flint must already know what it was he held. Silver surrendered the book quickly.

_Get out._ Silver forced himself to speak up, or tried to, “I was looking for--”

_I don’t give a damn what you were doing. Get out. Before I change my mind._

The break in Flint’s voice was a warning, and discretion undeniably the better part of valour. Silver hobbled for the exit, accidentally knocking into the doorframe as he tried to squeeze past Flint with minimal contact. He rushed across the deck to where he’d readied the launch the night before. His hands were shaking badly, still he nearly made it all of the way down the rope before they slipped. His legs hit the side of the small boat hard as he tumbled over into the water. The pain of the impact on his butchered limb caused him to use the precious seconds before he went under screaming instead of gasping for air. The saltwater seared his nose and throat sharply as he struggled toward the surface like a drowning cat. 

He managed to haul himself back into the launch, choking and spitting up bile. Needless to say it was a long and miserable journey back to shore. But he had on his mask before any of the men saw him on the beach. When they asked why he was drenched he told them Flint had made him walk the plank, made them laugh and then distracted them with a host of confusing orders about loading the supplies and readying the ship. Flint did not appear for some time, and when he did he avoided him. 

None of the men seemed to notice anything, except for Billy. Silver was able to put him off by saying he had asked Flint too many questions about his plans, made him peevish but that he would settle. Flint’s current expression, however, read more of weariness than anger. Silver wondered, if Flint could somehow man the Walrus by himself, would he leave them there behind on the island, sail away and convince anyone who asked that they’d all befallen some misfortune which he’d magically managed to avoid? He certainly would leave Silver behind if given the opportunity. 

After paying their final respects to the Chieftain, Flint and Silver climbed aboard the last launch with what remained of the men, instinctively taking up positions bow to stern to give each other as wide a berth as possible. As the men rowed Silver peered over the edge into the clear water. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he thought, looking back up at the smiling faces fading into featurelessness on the shore. He could jump now if he wanted, swim back to them, Flint certainly wouldn’t stop him. And the men, the men would probably leave it alone if ordered. But then, there was the second half of the lesson. _And John, don’t give up so easily. You must never give up_. 

Silver turned. There he sat, the pale king on his throne, staring at him from the other side of the launch with those cold light eyes, like he would put a bullet in the back of him if he could. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing either. After all, to be young and an invalid is one thing, but to grow old as one? He’s considered it. But then there was the lesson.

__________________________

Silver gave Flint a couple days to cool somewhat, though it was a torturous delay. He wanted it over with, even if the outcome was poor, it was better done. He waited until just before the dawn hour, when he was sure all the men would be so deep in slumber that even his limping gait would not wake them. 

Flint was on the deck, staring out into the dark purple expanse that surrounded them with his usual odd intensity. Silver wondered if he ever slept. Silver positioned himself near the cabin and coughed loudly to let Flint know he would not be ignored, for he had no doubt heard his hobbling approach yet chose to keep his back to him. Flint finally turned, expressionless and stalked over. He walked past Silver and into the cabin without a word, but left the door open behind him, clearly resigned to having a conversation. Silver allowed him a beat to ready himself and followed, closing and bolting the door behind him. 

Flint had already lit the lamp and was sitting down at his desk, deliberately leaning back in a lazy way, no doubt to show he was not in the least bit bothered by this development. Silver limped over to the desk, and ignoring the chair to his right placed both knuckles down on the edge of the desk to steady himself. 

“I, wish to apologize. For the other day. I should not have--”

_Here’s what’s going to happen._

Of course. Flint would not let him finish saying his peace, even when he was groveling.

_I’m going to ask you some questions. And you’re going to answer those questions, with the absolute truth. Or cripple or not so help me god I will crush what’s left of you and throw you into the fucking sea. Do you understand?_

Silver was expecting this. He would need to tell the truth, most of it anyway, if he wished to avoid the worst. Flint would know if he was lying.

“I understand.” 

_Good. Sit down._

Silver stumbled into the chair, a reminder that this would be on Flint’s terms more than a courtesy. 

_How did you know about it?_

“I saw you---bring it aboard the ship.”

_And I am to suppose...what? That you thumb through all my books? That you are that literary-minded and---”_

“I knew it was from her.” Two could play at interruption. “And I was curious about, the nature of your relations.”

A flash in Flint’s eyes told him he should not have brought _her_ up. Silver stopped, and allowed Flint to recover himself. A few excruciating moments passed before he had. 

_And when you looked at it that morning, when you told that pathetic lie to get back on the ship. That was what, it finally coming together for you?_

“Yes.” It hurt, having to give Flint this advantage, information which would betray yet a little more of himself, of how he worked, how much he paid attention. Silver felt a little swell of indignation in his chest but pushed it down. It was a distraction.

_So. What’s the move Mr. Silver? You tell the men I’m a sodomite, that I’ll bugger them in their sleep and then depose me? Take over the captaincy for yourself, is that it?”_

“No.” Had the thought occurred to him? Of course it had, but he’d dismissed it quickly. 

“I have no desire to be you.” That was the truth. Flint would see it.

_Blackmail then. You wait until the opportune moment, threaten to disclose it and ruin me, or bleed me dry, is that it?_

“I think we both know you’d kill me before you allowed that.” Again the truth, and he’d even managed to say it with a smile. 

_So, what is the move Mr. Silver? You tell me, I’m all ears._

“What makes you think there’s a move?” Not _technically_ truthful, but not technically a lie either. 

_I think I know enough of how your funny little mind works by now to pay that question no heed. Now answer mine._

_Little_. Bastard. No---motivation. It was motivation. Silver settled himself further into his chair and tried to affect a more disinterested tone.

“You know, I’ve often wondered why you are so set against crown and country, why you rage against your homeland yet betrayed her. But I see now, she took everything from you, took _him_.”

_Stop that. Right now._ Flint's voice was low but menacing. 

“Surely you must know by now that you’ll never be sated, even if you win your war. You won’t be satisfied until you’ve taken everything from her in turn, and Nassau, as charming as it is, is hardly everything.”

Flint was starting to rise up from his chair. He needed to hold him, needed more time.

“I’m getting to your answer.”

_Get to it faster._

“I’ve lost quite a bit too you know. My ‘jolly old England’ is just...different than yours.”

_So, is that supposed to be me? Is that what you’re saying, that you blame me, for the leg, for the Urca gold?_

Suddenly Flint laughed. He sank back into his chair and seemed to relax, just a little, clearly amused by the implication. The moment had arrived. 

“You must have been another man then. To be swayed so by a lover’s whims and fancies, and to now be so unmovable. So….monkish.”

Flint froze in his chair, the words were having their intended effect. 

“But then again, perhaps that’s what tears you up so. He could get you to do so many things, but not _everything._ You probably lacked the nerve to satisfy---”

He didn’t get farther than that, hadn’t even really clocked Flint’s movement until he felt the pain of Flint’s open hand colliding against his cheek. It had such force that the next moment he found himself sprawled on the floor, tasting metal, inhaling the damp scent of the floorboards. 

_And John, don’t_ \---

“To--to satisfy him.” He croaked it out as he crawled, away from Flint toward the corner of the room like a dying animal. 

\--- _give up so easily._

“I wonder, did you even get to bugger him---before the end?”

Flint was standing over him. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him upright, flipped him around so that they were chest to chest, held him there against the wall as he struck him again and again, each blow landing in quick succession. 

It finally stopped, and Flint just held him there, his breathing ragged. Silver’s mouth was warm and full now. 

He spat a mouthful of blood directly into Flint’s face. Improvised, but quite a stunning effect, seeing it spattered there, setting off each freckle as if with intention. 

Flint instinctively clamped his hands around Silver’s throat in response and squeezed hard. Silver’s hands raced to meet his, and pulled back against them with as much force as he could muster to relieve the pressure somewhat, not enough to remove it but enough to get a little breath. 

_And John_ \---

And then he let go. Let Flint completely cut off his air supply as he reached down and fumbled for where Flint’s cock should be. He had seconds, and if he was wrong, Christ if he was wrong…...He wasn’t. Flint was hard.

Flint immediately startled into releasing him and Silver returned the favor. He wheezed horribly, hunched over to try to recover his breath. He felt himself dribbling saliva, and probably blood but couldn’t help it. He spat what he could of the rest of it onto the floor. When he finally had the power of speech he brought himself upright again, leaning back against the wall, baring his bruising neck, and looked directly into Flint's eyes. They were full of anger and confusion. Silver let out a little laugh, a hysterical reflex.

“Guess I was right then.” He looked back down to where his hand had been for emphasis. 

That was it. His last card. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Flint dragged him across the room to the desk, knocking books and papers off it with one hand and twisting Silver’s arm behind his back with the other as he pinned him face down across it. Flint let go to grab at something on the desk, but Silver made no attempt to move. 

The scrape of metal---he was unscrewing the lamp. Silver knew the oil wasn’t a kindness but an expedience, Flint probably wanted to get this over with as quickly as he did. Flint yanked down Silver’s trousers and gave him the courtesy of a few fingers. Unexpected, but not for long. There was the thump of Flint’s belt buckle hitting the floorboards. 

Flint grasped Silver’s hips hard, the slickness of his hands making purchase difficult. Silver tried to force himself to relax, to breath, and pressed into the desk for support. If he tensed he was all the more likely to tear. 

He was huge. But Silver already knew that, there was no mistaking it when he’d grasped him.

Silver tried to focus on something as Flint pushed into him. He couldn’t see much of anything except the surface of the desk, its swirling wood grains, nicks and scrapes. He tried to distract himself with them out of desperation.

Agony. That was the word for it. The only word. Not as bad as the leg of course, but nothing had approached that. He could finally feel himself flush against Flint’s body, it was all the way in. He wanted to wail but he bit his lip instead. Flint began to move now, pulling Silver’s hips back to meet him with every brutal thrust, root to tip, groaning and cursing in a way that left no doubt as to how much he at least was enjoying it. 

Silver closed his eyes and started doing what had to be done, started thinking about anything to take the edge off the pain, to make himself hard. He thought about how much pleasure Flint was receiving at his expense, about how wrecked his body would be afterward, about how he was being ruined with every stroke, how he would never be the same. He began to feel a few sharp bolts of pleasure shoot through his body from his dick down his legs, even through the parts that were no longer there. He wasn’t hard enough for completion but it was something, a good ache.

Flint had to ruin it by grabbing his hair and pulling him up, forcing him to arch his back and allow Flint even deeper inside him, he had to be in his guts by now. He could feel Flint getting close, feel he was even harder than he had been in the beginning. Still it seemed like an eternity until he came, letting go of Silver’s hair and grabbing at his hip again as he did, letting him fall back onto the desk like a rag doll. Flint stuttered into him, riding it out until he finally finished and collapsed on top of him. 

It was over. The sobs began to climb up Silver’s chest and burst their way out, one by one. He’d managed to keep fairly silent until then, to hold back but he couldn’t any longer, though pride compelled him to try to muffle them as best he could into the desk. 

Flint pulled out abruptly in response and Silver felt the heavy weight come off of him. He felt Flint gathering him up and lifting him in his arms like he weighed nothing. He was deposited onto the window seat with surprising gentleness. Silver only realized he was shivering as he felt a blanket being thrown over him. Flint must have thought he was shaking from the cold, or perhaps he knew he wasn't but didn’t know what else to do. 

He heard the clink of crystal. Flint had retrieved his decanter from the cabinet and was pouring a couple of glasses. He brought one over and held it near Silver’s face, waiting for him to take it from him. Silver was about to refuse but thought better of it. He could use a drink. He gulped it down and handed the tumbler back weakly, unable to look Flint in the eye. 

Silver rolled over on his side to face the windows. He could see the pale of the morning sky beginning to bloom across the horizon. He heard Flint’s footsteps back to his desk, the thud of him collapsing into his chair, the clink again as he poured himself a second drink, followed shortly by a third. 

Silver thought about how he’d lain in the exact same spot that awful day, the day everything changed, lying to Flint about the Urca gold (for the second time). He’d started off admirably but panicked at the end, the moment Flint had taken a couple steps toward him, still unsure whether he was going to accept the lie. He hadn't been able to hold Flint's gaze then either, or properly regulate his breathing. Fortunately Flint hadn’t noticed, blinded by his rage, or he thought it was due to Silver's horror at what didn't lie before him on that cot. That certainly had been part of it. But it all seemed like an eternity ago. 

_I’ll never forgive myself. Not that that’s any fucking consolation._

It was little more than a whisper, or as close to whispering as Flint ever came. 

Silver didn’t turn around to face him. Kept his eyes on the water, waiting. 

_That was the move. Wasn’t it?_ The incredulity in his voice brought Silver satisfaction. 

_It’s a shit move._

Silver wasn’t even stung. He was too busy drifting with the sea now. He’d told the truth, more or less, and he was still alive. Of course, Flint hadn’t caught the lie that counted. He wasn’t his England. Not by a long shot. The only person who’d ever taken everything away from Silver was himself. 

  
  



	3. The Belly of the Beast

*************

“I’ll say I got up for a piss and fell.” It hurt to speak. He had slept an hour, maybe less. He wasn’t sure if Flint had dozed off too, he probably hadn’t. Silver ghosted the contours of his battered face with his fingertips. Even in Flint’s tarnished pocket mirror he could tell the true nature of the damage would be apparent. 

_Unless you’re somehow able to convince them you fell down the deck stairs, and hit every one with your face on the way down, they won’t buy it. Even they’re not that stupid._

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a better idea?” 

Flint’s silence admitted that he did not. 

_If that’s the story we’re going with, we might as well also say I found you. And let you rest here for a spell._

“They aren’t up yet, there’s no need.” Silver tossed the mirror down and forced himself to stand up and limp to the door before Flint could dissuade him. It hurt more than he thought it would, but he tried not to show it. Flint stopped advancing and allowed Silver to reach the exit first, keeping a respectful distance between them. 

_Well you can tell them we’re not heading back to Nassau while you’re at it. I don’t know how Hornigold secured those pardons, or exactly what is behind all of this, but it isn’t safe to return until we do. We don’t know what’s lying in wait for us there._

“Where are we going then?”

_____________________________

“You said he would settle. _That_ , doesn’t look like settling to me.” Silver had successfully avoided Billy for a time, ignored his looks, his attempts to get him alone, away from the men so they could speak in private. But Billy had finally managed to pull him aside while Flint was distracted with the navigation. 

“As I said, I tripped over the---”

“Bullshit. You can say that to them, don’t try to say it to me.” 

“All right.” Silver lowered his voice. “Flint and I got into an argument and things got out of hand. I’ll admit that. But if you haven’t noticed, he’s been much more manageable of late. So believe me when I say I sorted it out.” 

Silver watched Billy’s face, his expression confirming that he’d indeed noticed that Flint had been more mellow since the incident, that he could not argue that point at least. 

_There it is, Ocracoke Island._ Flint had suddenly appeared. They quickly broke away from each other, confirming a guilty conference. Flint’s eyes noted it but he made no comment. 

What stretched out before them was surprisingly unimpressive, a few strips of white sand, now littered with the dark of men’s camps, their garbage and scraps. Flint had said it would be the first place any of the fleet would go if they had survived an invasion. 

Flint was hoping to find Charles Vane among the smattering of men and ships that were moored there. Silver watched as the sight of Edward Teach, towering over everyone else on the beach, cast its long shadow, as awareness flooded into Flint’s face that any chance he had of getting what he wanted was now dramatically diminished by this appearance of a formidable foe rather than the formidable ally he’d expected. 

They sat at Teach’s table, Vane by Teach’s side, Silver and Billy flanking Flint. Vane relayed the news of Governor Woode Rogers' invasion, the pardons, the treachery of the men on Nassau, the miserable defeat that had ensued. Silver could sense Flint’s frustration mounting, but Flint kept his mask in place. It didn’t show cracks until Teach refused to turn over the fleet to him. Flint claimed rightful ownership, demanded that he be allowed to use what had been pledged to him to harass Rogers’ fleet, to regain the men who had betrayed them. 

Silver could hear Flint’s voice lean into something more personal--- _he was going to challenge Teach over the fleet_. Silver’s stomach turned. If Flint lost Silver was as good as dead. What use would he be to any of them, to Vane or Teach? At least he had managed to stay on decent terms with Billy, had made him feel like he was his ally but even that was slipping, It might snap if Billy ever found out how often he had lied to him, or what he had really done. Further, they had been becalmed for weeks. Flint hadn’t fully recovered, still seemed off balance. Just when ugliness seemed a certainty, Vane interrupted. 

“Perhaps had you been there, had we been able to lead the men together and mount a counter-attack, it would have been a dogfight. But that chance is gone now. He has you outnumbered, outgunned. You’d subject yourself and your crew to certain death, and for what? An island full of weaklings and ingrates?” 

Vane’s voice had an inhuman quality to it that always made Silver shudder. Images of Vane’s lieutenants, of that awful day, began to flash into his mind. He pushed them as hard as he could back into the darkness. 

_They took my home. I can’t walk away from that. Can you?_ Teach was watching both captains closely, but kept his peace.

“There are only two outcomes Flint. You fight Rogers. Lose. And he keeps everything. Or, there’s another way it could go.” 

Vane then spoke of a Spanish prize they had come upon. A treasure trove of information. It had disclosed that a significant portion of the Urca gold had been converted into a cache of gems, for which the Spanish were holding the new governor accountable. 

Vane’s contacts on Nassau had sent him word that the transport carrying the gold had already set sail, and would likely reach Havana too soon for interception. But that Rogers, delayed by some sort of difficulty in recovering the cache, would be delivering it personally and soon. Silver caught the look on Teach’s face and filed it away. It had a wounded expression. They were not the only ones hearing about this for the first time. 

_So you are suggesting what, that we intercept the second transport ship, board her and take the cache?_

“That’s exactly what I am suggesting. Deny him the cache, deny him the victory. He’ll have to leave some of his ships behind to protect the port, he can’t take them all to Havana. It's the best chance we’ll have of defeating his numbers.”

Flint paused. He appeared to be seriously considering Vane’s plan. 

_It still feels to me like a surrender. But if we were to return to Nassau after we defeat him, if we fight for---_

“No. They’ll just send more. You know it. I know it. Another Rogers, another fleet. Nassau isn’t part of the deal. What I’m offering you is this, and only this---fair portion of the treasure, and the chance to ensure that whatever the fuck Nassau is come Christmas, it won’t be English.”

“And I haven’t offered you anything,” Teach finally rejoined the conversation. “Not my men, not my ships for some suicide mission where he’ll be armed to the teeth, expecting our attack. So we can all stop wasting our time here. And _you_ can get the fuck off my beach.” 

____________

Vane had allowed them to remain disembarked for the night, so long as they sailed first thing in the morning. It was unclear whether he’d consulted Teach on the arrangement. The men took up residence on the beach while Billy, Flint and Silver returned to the Walrus to consider their next steps. 

“I can’t believe this is even a discussion,” Billy was incredulous. “Even if we were to defeat what will be a heavily armed transport and take back the treasure, kill Rogers even, we’d be leaving Nassau to burn and the men there to die? That is not my understanding of what we are doing here.” 

Silver had withdrawn from the conversation early to avoid having to pick a side and draw the ire of either of them. Instead he watched Billy and Flint’s posturing, watched them trade barbs. 

_We have to at least consider it. Things change. Circumstances change. I don’t like it any more than you do._

“Spare me Flint.” Billy spat out the words, no longer trying to conceal his hatred. “You giving a fuck about Nassau was just another convenient lie, that isn't convenient anymore.” With that Billy stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him. 

“You aren’t worried about him? About what he’ll go tell the men?” 

_And what will he tell them exactly? That they should all join a fight we can’t possibly win? With no tangible reward at the end of it but their own certain deaths? I’ll take my chances._

Silver smiled and started to push off from where he’d been leaning against the desk next to Flint. 

_Wait, I think I owe you something---from the other night._

Silver stopped breathing. Flint started rummaging around in his desk, looking for something. Silver was pretty sure it wasn’t for an apology. All of a sudden Flint went still, peering inside one of the open drawers. 

_Face forward._ Flint gave the command unceremoniously, not even bothering to look up. 

Silver slowly turned himself around so that he stood facing the door while Flint, sitting beside him, fiddled with something on the desk. Silver couldn’t bring himself to steal a glance to see what it was, afraid that if he did he would lose his nerve somehow. 

After what seemed like an eternity Flint got up and stood directly behind him. He was close enough that Silver could feel their clothes brushing together, feel Flint’s breath on the back of his neck. Flint reached around to the front of Silver’s trousers with his left hand and started to unbutton them. Silver heard himself let out a shaky breath as Flint’s hand drifted back up to his neck, and rested there lightly, the faint pressure of his fingertips making Silver tilt back his head instinctually. Then Flint’s right hand, calloused and slick with something, pulled out his cock. 

Flint began to pump him, slowly at first, then faster as Silver got unbearably hard. Silver tried to grab the desk as he started to feel himself nearing release. Before he could think about what he was doing he reached behind him for support and grabbed at the back of Flint’s belt. Flint responded by flattening his hand on Silver’s neck and pulling him close, so that the back of Silver’s head could rest on his shoulder. 

Silver only barely registered the change in position, the push of Flint’s erection into his lower back as he held him through it, the bristle of his beard on Silver's forehead as he writhed and twisted under the feeling of it. He was too busy concentrating on the thought that eventually brought him over the edge----Flint hadn’t asked his permission. Most likely because, in those elaborate calculations by which the man governed every action of his purposefully, it simply hadn’t factored in. 

When Silver finally cracked open his eyes he saw that he had come all over Flint's desk. He found himself apologizing, though it was entirely Flint’s doing, as he released his hold on him and shame began to heat his skin. Flint didn’t seem bothered. He grabbed a rag and wiped up the desk, allowing Silver time to sort himself out. After doing so Silver headed for the window seat to catch his breath for a moment. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Flint’s gaze yet. Flint slumped down in his chair as if defeated. 

_What do you really think, about this business?_

This business? Flint probably meant the matter of the transport ship, but then again---

_About the cache?_ Silver kicked himself for letting his face show his confusion. Since Flint had felt the need to clarify he’d probably guessed at what he’d been thinking. Silver tried to find his head again. 

“I think that Vane is right. There are only two outcomes here, let Rogers have Nassau, or let the Spanish raze it to the ground. Either way it’s hardly a victory.” 

Flint began to speak of his work to secure the pardons with Thomas Hamilton, though he did not say the name. He made cryptic reference to being in the belly of a beast, of making order out of chaos. He could not but see the irony in his now opposing what he had fought so hard for all those years ago. 

_I wonder, if the pardons are the victory, and if the most enlightened thing I can do is sit still, accept what appears to be inevitable, and let this be the end of Captain Flint._

And who will be left, Silver wondered, when Captain Flint finally comes to an end? Where would _he_ and Silver stand? 

Something in this seeming acquiescence, this nod to passivity, disconcerted him. It did not square with the darker being he’d seen so often pulling Flint’s levers, puppeting him through those moments when Silver felt he alone could see Flint for what he truly was, a bloody thing twisting in the wind. But they were past the point of frail deceptions now. 

“I can understand why that would be an attractive option to you, the allure of ensuring that no one will ever think you the villain you fear you are. But I think, sitting in that chair, you already know what you’re going to do. I think the question you’re really struggling with, the one that matters, isn’t ‘what should I do,’ but ‘who am I?’” 

Flint seemed deep in thought. Silver wasn’t sure if he was listening to him at all. He suddenly leaned forward, and ran his hand across his brow, speaking softly as if to himself, _And who does Woodes Rogers think that I am?_

“Well, I’m sure Woodes Rogers would have a strong preference for one of those aforementioned outcomes, were he here.” 

_Do you see me as the villain?_ Flint looked up at Silver, their eyes meeting directly for the first time. An unexpected question. Silver hesitated. 

“Does it matter, as long as I see you?”

____________________

It was morning. Silver must have fallen asleep on the window seat. Flint was shaking him awake, telling him they needed to head down to the beach to speak with Vane. Silver couldn’t imagine Teach would be willing to lend his ear, and doubted it was worth trying to get Vane’s in the absence of it, but Flint wouldn’t be reasoned with. 

Silver kept his eyes peeled for Billy as they strode across the beach. Right before they reached Vane’s tents he spotted Billy talking with some of the men in the distance. He seemed to take note of Silver as well, and did not seem pleased. How could he be, at clearly observing that Flint was now leaving him out of negotiations altogether. 

_I think I have a compromise, one that we can all live with. But we all have to give something. Teach, permission to use...his...fleet. I, Nassau. And you, your prize._

Vane was sprawled across his chair as if it were the throne of some sandy king whom he'd personally deposed. 

“What are you proposing?” 

_I’m proposing that we don’t seize the cache, we don’t board her, we don’t fight her. We sink her. They won’t be expecting it. Rogers won’t think that we’ll actually be willing to let that treasure sink to the bottom of the ocean floor instead of taking our chance at it. He’ll position his ships to repel boarding, but we’ll have our guns on her from far out. It should save us men, most of the fleet, but still deny him the victory._

“And you’re all right with that, with letting Nassau burn?”

_Yeah. I am._

Silver wondered if anyone else noticed it, the thing that had crawled into Flint’s body and was moving it again. Maybe he had only imagined its return, and it had always been there. He also felt disappointment, but that was puzzling. After all, Flint had done exactly what he thought he would, destroy his dream rather than let England take it from him, a second time. Though Silver had decided he’d no horse in it, he realized some part of him must have wanted Flint to make the other choice. Perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t the one Silver would have made, were he standing in Flint’s shoes. Countless deaths, a Nassau that wasn’t English? For some reason he’d rather it be English. 

____________________

Vane managed to gain Teach’s consent. He had seemingly been swayed by Flint and Vane’s assurances that since they would not attempt to recover the cache there would be less risk in the venture. Silver suspected Teach was more motivated by a desire to see Nassau, clearly a thorn in his side, removed once and for all. The motivation was not as clear for Vane, but then Silver never could get a good read on the man. 

They would intercept the transport soon, perhaps by midday. Billy had barely spoken to Silver or Flint since they’d departed. He was furious, in part because Flint had been able to sell the men his song of revenge on Ocracoke, got them all behind him with his devilish tongue and thwarted any chance Billy had at rallying them to defend their home rather than destroy it. 

Worse, Flint was refusing to let the men stay below deck when they were in their sights, though they would surely be battered in the approach. He said it might give away their intention, or rather their lack of intention to board. It had been the final straw for Billy, touched the nerve which always made him lose control---Flint’s total disregard for the lives of his men. 

_Mr. Silver, a moment?_ The convoy would be on their horizon soon, it must be important. Silver followed Flint all the way down to the hold. Flint beckoned him inside and shut the door. 

Before Silver could ask what he was about Flint shoved him against the wall and went down on his knees. Silver considered protesting, but then Flint was _on his knees_. Flint tore open his trousers and took Silver into his mouth, began sucking hard on the head of his cock, tonguing his slit as Silver let out a low moan. 

It was obvious the man had done this before. His previous jab at Flint concerning whether he and Hamilton had ever consummated their affair was probably wide of the mark, but then he had counted upon it. 

Flint grabbed Silver’s hips and slowly pulled, pushing Silver’s cock deep into his throat. Flint was fucking his own throat now, Silver could feel the muscles of it fluttering as he swallowed around him. 

Silver felt a pang of bitterness at the knowledge that even when utterly debasing himself Flint remained in complete control of the proceedings. Silver began to swear out of desperation, trying to keep himself from coming. It might have helped if he had been able to hold on to something, grip Flint’s hair but it was cropped now so that he had no purchase. 

He came into Flint’s mouth with a gasp, accepting defeat. Flint kept sucking his cock leisurely, the sensitivity of it making Silver jerk, until finally letting it fall out of his mouth with a pop. 

Flint stood up and leaned over him, placing both hands on either side of Silver's head on the wall behind him, staring him down. Silver wasn’t completely sure how he was still upright, given how boneless he felt. Then Flint suddenly reached over and pinched Silver’s nose, holding it tightly shut. Silver opened his mouth without thinking to breathe to find Flint shoving his tongue inside. 

He released Silver’s nose but kept plundering his mouth. Somehow it felt more intimate than anything they had done before, and more of a violation. There was something of open-eyed debauchery in it as well, which Silver quickly placed---Flint wanted him to taste himself, was making sure that Silver did so thoroughly. Flint finally broke off the kiss, both of them breathing raggedly. 

Flint leaned in close to Silver’s ear. 

_Are you going to return the favor?_

The panic was swift. Of course he should have been expecting this, why had he not been expecting this? He’d been so distracted by Flint sucking him off that he hadn’t stopped to think about what accepting such an offer would entail. He could try to back out, offer him a hand instead of his mouth, but it would be unsportsmanlike. 

Silver swallowed nervously and realized that even kneeling would be a difficult enterprise given the leg. Flint, however, caught his arms before he could lower himself and told him to wait. Flint looked around the room briefly and then pulled him over to where a couple of the large provisions chests sat, and pushed Silver down onto one. 

Flint then yanked down his own trousers and sat down on the opposing chest, leaning back shamelessly to make his intention obvious. 

Silver slowly forced himself to tilt forward, until his chest was between his knees, bracing himself with his forearms on either side of Flint and with his unscathed leg against the ground. It was the only thing to do, but he still felt precariously off balance. Flint seemed to sense it and grabbed his hair with one hand and his arm with the other to steady him. 

He tried to do what Flint had done, to take him fully into his mouth, but immediately gagged. Flint tasted salty and close, surprisingly human. He tried again, allowing Flint to guide him this time, slowly sucking as much down as he could reasonably take, which was only about half of his length, before retching. 

Silver’s eyes were watering, panic made him push back against the pressure of Flint’s hand to relieve his throat, which was growing sorer by the minute from the obstruction. Flint responded in kind, forcing his entirety in and leaving Silver gagging at his base. He could hear Flint’s voice above him, telling him it was all right and to breathe. His jaw ached horribly but eventually he felt it go slack. Somehow that made it easier. Flint fucked his mouth leisurely as Silver accepted it, surrendered all dignity, all control. 

Silver finally registered Flint coming, the taste of him shooting into his mouth and Flint telling him to swallow it, as if he had another option. When Flint let him up Silver wiped at his face to clear the saliva and tears that had run there together, blinding him. It felt not unlike when he had fallen over the side of the launch and inhaled a copious amount of sea water. 

Flint put his hand up to Silver’s face and swiped his thumb over the bulge where Silver’s right eye met his brow. He then reached to grab at his hair again, pulling him close for another kiss. It was still clinical, a desire no doubt to taste himself on Silver more than anything else. Silver opened his mouth unprompted and allowed Flint to satisfy himself, to satisfy whatever urge it was. When Flint had finished he stood up abruptly, hiking up his pants. 

_Do you know where the water is?_ Silver was too disoriented to note the strangeness of the question. 

“I?---Yes.” 

_Good_.

Silver was starting to come back to himself. He was about to remark on how they probably shouldn’t have worn themselves out so, right before the fight of their lives, and should make their way back up to the deck lest the men think them cowards. He started to speak but the words quickly faded from his lips as Flint walked out, shutting the door behind him. Silver was still sitting on the chest when he heard the clink of keys, the click of the lock. 

“Wait. No no no no no--” Silver crawled over to the door furiously, it was faster than getting up. He grabbed at the door handle, using it to pull himself upright. The way it held fast beneath his weight, frozen in place, confirmed the worst. Still he yanked at it, banged at it, screamed at it. There was nothing. Just the faint rumblings of men’s voices far above, and the knowledge that whatever was commanding them out there, whatever had locked him in here, might be less than a monster, but more than a man. 


	4. The Challenge

The screams of the men and the sound of the cannon fire striking the decks had gone on for hours. Silver tried to guess where they might have hit from the reverberations, considered which parts of the ship would need the first repairs. It was a useful distraction from the rage simmering within him at Flint’s betrayal. 

When the door at last opened Flint stood there bloodied. Silver held himself back long enough to ask if he was injured before attacking him. Flint anticipated it and wearily put up a defense, after which Silver was still the one thrown to the floor due his damnable disadvantage. He picked himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, swatting away Flint’s attempts at assistance. Before he could depart Flint grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

_I told Billy you were below, on the guns._

Silver wrenched himself out of his grasp and without reply headed as fast as he could for the deck. Blood was dripping down the steps to the upper level. Its nickeled scent hung in the air along with the stench of gunpowder and charred flesh. 

Billy was still alive. And thank god for that, though he looked hollowed and had taken a bit of shrapnel to his right arm. It wasn’t deep, it would mend. They’d lost a good deal of the men due to Flint’s orders for them to stay above deck, and the damage was extensive. Thankfully Billy seemed too shaken by what had occurred to notice that Silver had not suffered similar disruption to his person. 

The cannon fire had also clearly deafened him. He shouted to Silver about what had occurred despite their proximity. None of what he yelled made as great an impact as the sight of the man that lay crumpled near the starboard, fashionably dressed and looking both pained and mildly irritated as he gingerly dabbed at his bloodied lip with a wet handkerchief. Billy was saying that they fished him out of the water after Rogers’ ship had sunk, spotted him floating among the flotsam clinging to a barrel. 

“Didn’t he want to go with Vane and Teach?”

Billy nodded in understanding, “I thought as much, but says he would rather stay with us. Wouldn’t be welcome, not with Teach around.”

Flint had already set their course to Mayaguana to regroup, resupply, and hopefully convince some recruits to join the crew to make up for their loss in numbers. Silver spent the journey there avoiding Flint as best he could, staying with the men below deck and keeping his distance from him above it. 

His leg had also been worse of late. He’d confided in Dr. Howell, who’d advised he stay off it as much as possible and promised to secure some medicine for him when they docked at Pirate’s Well. 

Of course Silver had no time to rest it, not between trying to gather recruits with Billy and making sure they restocked sufficiently for the journey ahead. Flint had put forth an ambitious course. They would come up through the south Gulf and head for Barataria Bay, near the new settlement of La Nouvelle-Orléans. From there they would pick off Spanish ships enroute to Mexico, protected by retreat into French waters where Flint was confident they would be able to bribe their way to safe harbor. They would need to take a prize soon to have something with which to barter their way in, but that wouldn’t be an obstacle given the long voyage ahead. 

Billy accepted the plan with surprisingly calm and few questions, which worried Silver more than if he’d put up his usual resistance to Flint’s schemes. Of course Billy had cornered him in the galley later as Silver was making a concoction on Howell’s advice from the comfrey, yarrow and other bits of herbery he’d managed to secure from the sole apothecary on the island. 

“We need to do something. _Before_ Barataria.” 

Silver kept mixing the medicine, but gave Billy a look to let him know he was listening. 

“What did you have in mind?” Billy’s excitement was palpable. 

“I could challenge him directly, rid us of him before we make land.”

“Billy, don’t take this the wrong way, but he’d kill you.” Silver tried to say it gently, but there was no point beating around the bush. 

“Then I do it the next time we go over the side, make it look like an accident.”

“If the men found out they would never trust you afterwards, nor respect you the way you’d need them to if you want to be their captain.” 

Billy bit his lip, obviously wanting to add something further but hesitant to do so. 

“I wouldn't necessarily have to be their captain.”

“Billy, as I’ve told you before, I’m not interested.”

“If you would just consider---”

“I can’t.”

Billy’s frustration was apparent, the air heavy with it. He needed to persuade him to stand down, he would have to give him something. 

“Look, I think you’re forgetting about our friend Mr. Rackham up there. If we can get him to see things our way, we’ll have Flint soundly outnumbered.”

“And what makes you think he won’t see things Flint’s way instead?”

“We can’t know for sure, but isn’t it best to find out, before we take any serious action?”

Billy slumped back against the table, clearly unhappy with the suggestion but resigned to accepting it. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt, to give it a few days. But we must move before Barataria Silver, regardless.” 

Before Silver could respond he heard a heavy tread from the galley steps harkening the approach of the Devil himself. Upon seeing Flint Billy quickly made an excuse and his exit. 

Silver continued with his preparations, ignoring Flint’s hovering. 

_You two seem to find an awful lot to discuss these days. What is it that you talk about?_

Flint grabbed an apple off the table and began tossing it up and catching it, no doubt his pitiful attempt at affecting a casual demeanor. Silver kept his focus on the bits of leaves and sprigs in front of him and his voice measured. 

“You, mostly.”

_I’m flattered._

“You shouldn't be.” Too far perhaps, but he couldn’t help himself, nor the grin he felt spreading across his face. He stole a glance at Flint, but his expression was unreadable. 

_I suppose you’ve been busy, twisting him around that little peg leg of yours._

“In my defense Billy’s very twistable.” He hadn’t meant it to sound salacious but somehow it had. He looked up again, anger was now apparent in Flint’s features. 

“You know, I thought it was the rosemary. But, no, I am definitely detecting a whiff of something, Captain.” Silver feigned surprise wickedly, his amusement growing. “Could it be, _jealousy_ perhaps? Well don’t worry, it becomes you.”

Flint suddenly grabbed Silver by the arm, nearly causing him to topple over his precious work and slammed him face first against the wall of the ship. He pinned him, twisting Silver’s arm up behind him painfully. 

Silver yelped at the feeling of Flint’s hand being shoved down the back of his trousers and let out a broken groan at the sharp pain of the fingers working him open rough and quick. He tried to twist his hips away as his upper body was crushed into place, but stilled as he felt the pressure of Flint’s teeth close over the back of his neck, not hard enough to break skin but enough to keep him from attempting further movement. Flint finally pulled his hand out and released him with a slight shove.

_Not that twistable apparently._

“Fuck you!” Despite everything that had happened Silver couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this much rage. He could taste bile from it, was unable to catch his breath from it. Flint was already heading back up the stairs as if nothing had happened. 

“And _this_ , is finished.” 

The words made Flint halt abruptly. He retraced a couple steps, and leaned down with his arm against the beam so Silver could see his face. 

_It’s finished when I say it’s finished._

With that he disappeared to the upper deck. Silver snatched one of the empty bowls he’d been using and threw it against the wall, scattering its shards across the room. 

__________________________

They had left Mayaguana with replenished numbers. Billy was feeling hopeful about the fact that the new men wouldn’t feel any loyalty to Flint and wouldn't shut up about it.

Silver had applied the medicine to his leg in secrecy, enlisting Dr. Howell to help him. Howell was reluctant at first, asking whether Flint should be informed. Silver convinced him to remain silent so long as he didn’t have to take any more of the leg. Dr. Howell also advised him not to use the peg, but to rely on his crutch instead to relieve some of the pressure. He told him he shouldn’t worry so much about appearances but Silver refused. The crutch made him look weak, like even more of an invalid than he was. 

He tried to hide his wincing as he scurried around the deck. It might have been manageable had that idiot Dobbs not tied his lashing incorrectly, resulting in some of the rigging coming loose and crashing down, narrowly missing several of the men. Silver, frustrated at Dobbs’ incompetence and his denials thereof, started to climb a short ways up the rigging to dislodge a piece that was left dangling but missed his footing and fell back down to the deck, landing on his peg in the process. He heard a hideous screech from somewhere close before the deck turned to white. 

__________________________

Silver could make out the blurry image of Howell, could sense Flint and maybe another man were present, but he was not as clear. The rumble in Flint’s voice said that he was chewing someone out, probably Howell for not telling him about Silver’s true condition. He couldn’t make anything else out. Before he knew it he felt the bitter drops of laudanum hitting the back of his throat. He tried to spit it up, but Flint was holding his mouth closed, forcing him to swallow. There was unbearable pain for an instant, and then there was nothing but a haziness followed by dreamless sleep. 

__________________________

Silver had not expected to wake up to the face of Jack fucking Rackham peering down at him. He couldn’t be sure how long he’d been out, but based on the morning light streaming in through the windows he’d lost at least a day’s time. The kind but shrewd brown eyes assessed him coldly, as if he was an insentient thing. 

“You need to try to get up, and you need to do it now.” Rackham propped Silver up from where he lay on Flint’s cot. The after effects of the laudanum must still be upon him, he felt like weeping and laughing at the same time.

“I---I don’t think I---”

“If you don’t get up now and get out on that deck you’re going to regret it. You can thank me later.”

Silver stared down at his bandaged leg. It looked the same, as though they hadn’t taken more of it. But he couldn’t trust his own eyes, not in such a state. 

“Did they---” He gestured to it, hoping that Rackham would understand. Thankfully he did. 

“No. They cleaned it and removed some of the _expired material_. But you are largely as intact as you were before.” Rackham was moving swiftly around the cabin now, grabbing the crutch from where it had been resting against Flint’s desk. Silver would need it to stand up, his peg leg was nowhere to be seen.

Silver was about to rise with Rackham’s help when Rackham suddenly told him to wait and motioned for him to sit back down again. He then untied a silk kerchief from around his own neck and began to secure it around Silver’s with nimble fingers. Silver protested and put his hand up to block him, but upon doing so let out a hiss at the sudden tenderness there. He traced it all around the front of his throat, as if he’d been on half a hangman’s noose. 

Rackham huffed and produced a small mirror from his pocket (of course the man had one ready to hand) and told Silver to look for himself. It was unmistakable, the bruised and mottled skin there had been nipped and worried by someone’s teeth---- _Flint_. Silver could not think to hide his panic at Rackham’s discovery and looked up at him with trepidation. 

“You needn’t give me that look, I had nothing to do with _that_.” Rackham motioned at his neck disdainfully.

“You don’t seem---”

“Surprised? Well I can’t be certain but I’d wager you’ve been playing a very dangerous game, no doubt to gain some semblance of control over the man out there. And that it hasn’t worked out quite the way you’d hoped. A valiant effort nonetheless.” Rackham finished tying the scrap of cloth around Silver’s neck with a flourish.

Silver was back on his feet now, crutch in hand as Rackham tried to steady him on his other side. 

“What’s going on out there---what’s so important?”

“Billy Bones has challenged your Captain.” Rackham leaned in and put on a gossipy voice, “It’s _swords_.” 

The daylight nearly blinded Silver as they emerged from Flint’s cabin, his eyes even more sensitive due to his drugged state. His vision slowly came into focus and he saw the crew, gathered around the deck jeering like bloodthirsty Romans at the Colosseum. In the middle were Billy and Flint, weapons in hand. They did not appear to have started yet, and both stared up at him and Rackham as they slowly made their way across the deck. Flint had a look of mild curiosity. There was something writ on Billy’s face, however, that Silver could not place. For all his height Billy somehow looked small….. _trapped_. 

Silver turned to Rackham and grasped at his sleeve, “How did it--come about?”

“The way these things usually do.”

“No---how did it come about...exactly?

Rackham looked intrigued, “Flint just announced it to the men. Why do you ask?”

Silver didn’t have time to answer the question, the clang of metal striking metal cut him short. 

Billy seemed to have snapped out of whatever was distressing him to mount a vigorous defense. He and Flint fought ruthlessly, each gaining strikes to the body before Flint managed to knock Billy’s sword out of his hand and make a play for his belly. 

Silver thought he might be sick and clutched harder at Rackham to stay upright. Billy turned quickly however and avoided Flint’s thrust, opting to pull Flint down with him onto the deck. He managed to make Flint drop his weapon as well as they grappled each other. The crew only screamed louder, seemingly thrilled by this development. Flint went for Billy’s right arm, pulling it out as hard as he could and climbing onto his back. Silver thought it might break, but Billy managed to throw back an elbow and hit Flint in the face, causing him to tumble backwards. 

Billy lunged at Flint before he could recover and with his arm around his neck tried to choke him into unconsciousness. Just when Flint seemed like he would go limp, his face nearly blue from the lack of oxygen, he managed to jab at Billy and break his hold. A well-aimed right hook hit Billy squarely in the jaw, and was followed by another and another and another as Billy’s face became a crimson blur. Flint finally crawled off him and over toward where his sword had fallen. Billy rolled over onto his stomach and was spitting up blood and gore, trying desperately to right himself. 

Before Billy could get back up Flint had straddled him, sword in hand. Flint grabbed Billy by his hair and pulled his head up, forcing him to look directly up at where Silver and Rackham stood above them on the upper level. Despite the wreckage of Billy’s face Silver could feel the terror in it as Flint, locking eyes with Silver, pulled his sword across Billy’s throat, slicing him ear to ear, and dropped him back down to hideously gurgle and choke out his life upon the deck. The men roared. 

Silver felt himself drop as well, though Rackham managed to keep hold of his arm and so softened his fall. Silver realized he was grabbing at Rackham’s neck tie, or rather at his own throat out of some kind of subconscious horror of the very place Flint had just dragged his sword. 

Rackham knelt beside him and was trying to speak to him, asking if he was all right. Silver didn’t pay him any attention. He was trying to listen to Flint ordering the men about below, telling them to give Billy a proper burial, then hearing him shout for Howell. Silver felt himself being lifted up by several pairs of hands. In response he grabbed for the side of the ship and held on to it as tightly as he could to prevent himself being moved out of some kind of primal panic. 

He managed to keep himself in place despite the tugging at his wrists, until familiar hands began to pry away his fingers, one by one. His grip thus removed, they dragged him away. Silver managed to look down for a second over to where Billy had fallen. The men were rolling something heavy into a canvas. 

Soon he found himself staring back up at the ceiling of Flint’s cabin. 

_Rackham---can you act as quartermaster? Until Mr. Silver recovers?_

He didn’t hear Rackham’s response, but he couldn’t imagine it wasn’t in the affirmative. All that was left now was the grounding weight of Flint’s hand on Silver’s forehead and the static of his looming presence. Silver had seen his depths now. Like the others before him he would not resurface. A strange calm started to come over him at the thought. 

  
  
  



End file.
